


talk, talk, talk to me

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23658682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt talks to Jaskier while he's sleeping. It's a good way to vent and it beats talking to a horse, even his beloved Roach.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 525





	talk, talk, talk to me

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt settled down on his bedroll, peering up at the dark sky, the stars shining bright. He had just stomped the fire out, readying for sleep. Jaskier was turned away from him on his own bedroll. He sighed softly. He could smell it, the promise of rain.

“It’s going to rain,” he said, “probably by morning.”

There wasn’t much they could do, so far from any town, but it still felt like the right thing to do to warn Jaskier.

When Jaskier didn’t reply, he frowned and turned toward him. Almost as if on cue, he rolled over. The bard was fast asleep, eyelashes fluttering in his slumber. Geralt snorted quietly. It was always unusual, to get a look at Jaskier when he wasn’t rambling.

“Goodnight, then,” he said. With nothing left to say, he closed his eyes.

In the morning, predictably, Jaskier rushed around, stuffing his items in his bag as the rain poured down around them. Geralt watched, leaning against a tree. He was not as concerned as Jaskier about his personal items. To be fair, he had far less of them.

“You could’ve warned a guy!” he exclaimed, hugging his bag to his chest.

Geralt thought about telling him he had tried, last night, but decided there was no point.

/

After that, he didn’t even think about it for months. They parted ways, like they did, and reunited a few months later, early spring. Jaskier was as energetic as ever, rambling on and on about all the things he did while they were separated.

“What about you?” he asked once he was done, looking over at him expectantly.

Geralt thought about it. He had done a lot, defeated many beasts, been kicked out of a few towns (for no good reason if you asked him), slept around a bit, though not nearly as much as Jaskier. He enjoyed that kind of stuff in moderation.

“Hmm,” he said finally in way of a proper reply.

Jaskier sighed, turning away again. “You can talk to me, you know. I’m your friend. It’s what _friends_ do.”

Geralt slowed a bit, watching as Jaskier walked ahead of him. The thing was, he _did_ consider him a friend, one of his only friends. But he wasn’t used to that, having friends or talking openly about his life (and _certainly_ not his feelings).

He had been taught, early on, that the less you said, the better.

Jaskier stopped suddenly, turning on his heels. “Hey,” he said. “Hurry up.”

It was a role reversal for sure; usually Geralt was the one barking at Jaskier to walk faster, which was unfair, of course, considering he had a horse and Jaskier didn’t. He had been thinking, actually, about how he should purchase one soon.

He would need one, if he was going to keep following him around like a loyal dog.

Tugging on Roach’s reins, she sped up, hooves clanking on the rocks underneath their feet.

Later that night, tucked away in the woods, Geralt found himself glancing over at Jaskier. It was dark but with his mutations he could easily make out the lines of his shoulders. His breathing was slow, quiet. The crickets were louder.

Geralt looked away, staring at the remnants of the fire, some embers still glowing.

“Do you _really_ want to know?” he asked softly. “The things I did when we were separated?”

He didn’t get a reply. He hadn’t been expecting one, to be fair.

Geralt breathed out, hard, through his nose. If he focused hard enough, this close, he could _smell_ Jaskier. A mix of oak and honey. He wondered if he used soaps or if he just naturally smelled like that.

“I don’t talk much,” he continued after a long pause. “I probably say the most words to Roach.” A fact. “And I love her. She’s a good listener, and only rarely judgmental.” But she had her moments, certainly, where she looked at him like she understood what he was saying and was judging him quite harshly for it. “But… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like it’d be… _nice_ ,” he said for lack of a better word, “to vent to an actual person.”

He glanced at him again. “Even if that person isn’t actually listening.”

Looking away, he started talking, about anything and everything, in a way he has never has before. By the end of it, he feels weirdly _light_. “Huh,” he said before settling down for the night.

/

It wasn’t a routine, exactly. Geralt didn’t do it every night, or even every other night. But sometimes, when he felt like he needed to just _talk_ , he would vent to Jaskier while he slept, staring at the sky or the remnants of the fire.

Oddly he didn’t do it as much when they were staying at an inn. There was just something _freeing_ about being outside, like he wasn’t held down by anything. Like he could talk, and be honest, without worrying.

He talked to him about many things. About monsters, and his childhood, and the things he looked forward to. The list was small, but present. Like summer, and eating fresh apples, and sleeping in a proper bed. Sometimes he would even finish by thanking Jaskier for listening. Silly, he knew, but it still felt like something he should do.

Jaskier predictably never replied, fast asleep and snoring.

/

They parted ways again, and reunited at the start of summer, the sun high in the sky and hot on their skin. Jaskier smiled slightly. “You must be enjoying this,” he remarked casually.

Geralt looked down at him from on top of Roach. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replied breezily. “Just the warm weather, and the smell of flowers.”

Geralt looked away, squinting at the sun. “Hmm.”

He didn’t think about it again, even later when he settled down and looked at Jaskier. Jaskier, who was rolled away from him, hands tucked under his head, the way he always slept.

Jaskier had spent the whole day chattering away about what he had done when they were separated. He mentioned visiting the coast, which made Geralt feel rightfully unsettled after their fight on the mountain, though that had been years ago. He mentioned performing for royalty and making lots of money that he spent far too quickly. Geralt had listened silently, like always.

He had paused, after, and looked at him expectantly. “What about you?”

Geralt had felt oddly inclined to tell him, actually, feeling surprisingly comfortable, but then Jaskier had stumbled, tripping over a rock, and the moment had swiftly passed. “Less talking,” he replied gruffly, looking away. Jaskier had sighed and pulled his lute to his front, strumming lazily as they continued their trek.

“I feel… comfortable around you,” he said, now, staring at his hands. “I never expected that. Not just because it’s you but because… I tried, for very long, not to let that happen.” Geralt had tried, a few times, in the beginning to befriend humans, even a few mages, but they had all ended in disaster. That was long before he had met Jaskier or even Yennefer.

“I was taught it was better to be alone,” he continued quietly, “and I believed it. I pushed people away before they could get too close. Because once they do, once I open up, I know it’s only a matter of time before…”

Well, before they left him. Before they realized he was a liability.

He had even tried pushing away Jaskier, once upon a time. “That was why… I mean, on the mountain,” Geralt cleared his throat, “I said what I said. I know I’ve already apologized, and you accepted it because, well, you’re _you_.” Jaskier was the most loyal person he had ever met, for better or worse. “But I should’ve told you why I did it, maybe. Ah. I don’t know.”

Suddenly Jaskier rolled over. Geralt assumed he was just waking up but—“You’re worth so much more than you think,” he said softly, surprisingly clear.

He stiffened. “What are you talking about?” he asked without looking. His stomach churned uncomfortably at the implication. But surely Jaskier hadn’t been awake the whole time, right? He would’ve said something. “Must still be groggy from sleep.”

Jaskier sat up slowly. “I, uh, I wasn’t asleep.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, not understanding.

He finally looked. It was dark, dark enough he knew Jaskier couldn’t see him. But _he_ could see him. He looked uncharacteristically nervous. “I haven’t been asleep,” he said, visibly cringing, “tonight or… many of the other nights.”

The words settled, heavily, in the air between them. “I don’t understand,” he said, though that wasn’t true. He understood perfectly well what he was saying.

Jaskier scratched his cheek. “I think I was asleep, uh, the first few times,” he said slowly, “but then one night you sat down and started talking, like it was just a totally normal thing and I don’t know.” He shrugged weakly. “I felt like I should just… let you talk, you know. Get it off your chest. I don’t know you don’t get to do that a lot.”

“You heard all of it,” he said, not a question.

Jaskier tilted his head back and forth. “Like I said, probably not _all_ of it but most of it. Yeah, I think.”

“And you didn’t say anything,” he continued, feeling unexpectedly betrayed. But it wasn’t Jaskier’s fault. He hadn’t asked for any of this.

Jaskier cringed again. “I wanted to,” he said, “but you were finally _talking_ to me, Geralt. I knew what would happen if I mentioned it. You would never do it again, and probably be even more closed off than before.” Geralt opened his mouth but he barreled on, “Don’t say it isn’t true because I know you, more than you think I do.”

Geralt wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. He was right. He probably would’ve clammed back up, just like before. Instead he was silent, for too long. Jaskier wiggled out of his bedroll, scooting closer on the dirt. He was so close he could see the speckles of brown in his eyes, even in the dark.

“You don’t have to stop,” he said firmly. “You can _talk_ to me. You don’t have to wait until I’m asleep.”

Geralt stared at him. Jaskier stared back, unwavering. He always had been stubborn, or brave. Maybe both. “I’ve never understood,” he said finally, “why you are so set on being my friend, even when I treat you like crap.”

Jaskier blinked, eyes widening for a second. “For all the times you have said the wrong thing, Geralt, you have protected me. Or comforted me. Or listened to my rambles. Hell, on especially good days you have even given me fairly good advice.”

“But is it worth it?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Jaskier smiled slightly, almost sadly. “It is,” he said and that was that. He didn’t offer any explanation. “You are my friend, Geralt. By choice, nothing else. He reached out suddenly, placing his hand on top of Geralt’s. He startled a bit, not expecting it. Jaskier’s hand was warm and unexpectedly rough, probably from years of playing. “I wish to be your friend as well. I want to be there for you. Even when you think you can handle something on your own, wish I don’t doubt you can, I want to help. Not because you _need_ it but because it’s what you would do if the roles were reversed. Because I care about you, Geralt.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said almost instantly. “Everyone around me meets the same fate, Jaskier, and it isn’t a good one.” Death and suffering followed him like a storm.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m willing to take that risk.” He was silent for a beat. “Are you?”

Geralt knew what he _should_ do. He should do what he had done so many times before. Push him away for his own safety, the greater good. Jaskier deserved a full life. He might not get that if he stayed with him. But then the ugly reality of his selfishness reared its head. He didn’t want that. He wanted Jaskier in his life, for now and for as long as he would be here.

“I am,” he said finally.

Jaskier smiled, just a little. “Good,” he said, “because you’re stuck with me.”


End file.
